Décès
by Rainbow-Velociraptor
Summary: Translates to "death" in French. Matthew Williams, diagnosed with brain cancer, has only a short time left to live. This is his story, and how no one knew he existed until he died. Human AU.


**Title:** Cancer  
 **Rating:** T  
 **Genre:** Tragedy/Hurt/Comfort  
 **Warnings:** Death, terminal illness, angst, suicide mention, depression

 **Author's Note:** Despite my hiatus, I decided to rewrite this story. I actually decided to rewrite this story years ago, but just never go around to it until now.

* * *

 **Cancer – Chapter 1 – Death**

* * *

"Mr. Williams, your bloodwork is back."

He sat on the bed in the examination room, picking at his fingernails anxiously. "What does it say?"

He heard the doctor sigh and his heart dropped.

"It's not good." He showed him the results. "From your CT scans we did a week ago, the mass we found on the frontal lobe on your brain was in fact a tumor, and this test proves that it's cancerous, and judging by its massive size, the tumor has most likely been there for quiet sometime."

Matthew was quiet, trying to swallow the lump in his throat. "So… what you mean is…"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Williams. It's terminal."

He looked down, still picking at his fingernails. "Is it invasive?"

The doctor looked over the chart again. "Now that, we aren't sure of. We know for sure that it's brain cancer, but whether or not it will spread to the rest of your body… well, we're not even sure if that matters now that the cancer has been ruled terminal."

"How large is it?"

"Around the size of a baseball. To be honest, I'm surprised it hasn't killed you yet. But it's safe to say that this is the reason for your skull crushing migraines for the past year."

"… How long do I have, then?"

"As a pathologist, I would say less than six months. But sometimes cancer patients like you can live for as long as two years after diagnosis."

Matthew let himself take a deep breath. "So I suppose chemotherapy is out of the question then?"

The doctor turned around. "I'm afraid so. Your body is too weak to begin with to even think about chemotherapy, and since your cancer has progressed so far already, chemotherapy would be a waste of time for both you and me."

The young sighed and stood up. "Then I shall take my leave then."

The doctor turned to him. "I'm sorry, Mr. Williams. I wish I could of given you better news."

"It's fine, thank you."

He stood and left. He kept himself together as he left the doctor's office and drove home. He pulled up into the driveway, walking inside his house where he lived alone. As soon as the door closed, he put his head in his hands and leaned against the door, sliding down to the floor, letting out a sob as the grief finally overtook him. He felt hot wet tears running down his face as he ran his fingers through his hair, gripping his own hair tightly. He ignored the sting of pain he felt and everything around him became a blur as he opened his mouth and let out a scream, his eyes wide with fear and anger.

"This can't be happening to me! There's no way this is happening to me!"

He screamed and cried, pulling his hair as he tried to block out the throbbing pain in his head. The doctor's words rang in his head, and every sound in the world became so loud he couldn't stand it. He couldn't bring himself to believe the doctor's diagnosis. He was in denial.

Matthew took a deep breath, lying on the floor as he panted. He felt drool running down his chin from screaming so loud for so long. He tried to catch his breath, and he repeated to himself, over and over, "I'm not sick. I'm not going to die. That doctor is fucking stupid, I don't have cancer! This is such bullshit!"

For months, he ignored his symptoms; his vomiting and splitting migraines, the blurred visions and vertigo. He didn't want to think that anything was wrong; he wanted to live in ignorant bliss for just a little while longer. But when the blurred visions turned to temporary blindness, he knew he couldn't go on living like that. Now he knew that he wasn't going to go on living at all.

The young blonde pushed himself up off the floor, wiping his face off with the sleeve of his sweater and he walked over to his couch. He plopped down and sat, before he lay down again. He closed his eyes, and for a split second, he knew that his eyes might now open every again if he slept now, his before he even knew it, he was asleep.

* * *

The anger within him bubbled furiously. He felt it in his stomach, feeling like he was going to vomit. The pressure inside his stomach was almost unbearable, but Matthew refused to move from the spot on the couch. He ignored the heated anger inside him and stared at the television. He could barely even understand what he was watching, but he understood it enough to distract himself from the heated rage his body was trying so hard to release.

Matthew had never experience anger this extreme and intense before. Not even his brother, who could be an absolute ass, had never made him this angry before. He didn't know how to handle it. The heat was slowly overtaking his body, and he had to let it out. He had to do something. He could no longer pay attention to the television, and in a short burst, he grabbed the edge of the table and pulled up with strength he didn't know he had, and the flipped it over, hearing the glass coffee table shatter on the hardwood flooring. He felt his anger disperse and when he looked down, his eyes widened.

"I did that, didn't I?" he spoke to himself.

Matthew sighed and went to get a broom and dustpan. He knew he shouldn't of done that, but his anger had gotten the best of him. His anger wanted him to blame someone for this happening to him, but deep down, he knew that there was no one to blame but himself.

* * *

Matthew couldn't help but count down the days until his predicted death. It was nighttime, another day of his now shortened life had gone by.

He hadn't done this since he was a little boy, but he figured that now it was worth a shot. He got down onto his knees on his bedside, clasped his hands together and prayed.

"Please… God… I want to live. I'm not ready to join you in heaven or the devil in hell if that is where you choose to send me, if that is where I truly deserve to be. I want to live just a little bit longer. Just please… please."

He hoped that God heard his pleas, and he thought that perhaps he would be saved and he would be able to live a long and healthy life like he was always supposed to do, what he was always promised.

However, he knew that his prayers fell on deaf ears. He took a deep breath. "Amen."

* * *

His entire body ached in pain, both from the cancer that was beginning to spread throughout his body and the depression that settled in over the past few months. The doctor said this was normal, "a stage of dying" as he called it. Matthew thought it was horse shit, but what did it matter? He was going to die in two months anyway, maybe even sooner. Who knows?

He never turned on the television anymore, too tired to even reach for the remote on the table, too tired to even move from his spot on the bed which was becoming his new permanent home. The covers were pulled over him and his skin was pale and thin and shriveled. His eyes, once a vibrant blue, had faded to a dark gray, void of hope and life. He was thin, too thin, but what was the point? To Matthew, it just wasn't worth it anymore.

His chest felt heavy as if the weight of the world was pressing down on him, and he felt like he couldn't breathe. He swallowed the lump in his throat, and he would have cried if there were more tears, but his body wouldn't allow it. Matthew couldn't even find the strength to roll over onto his side. He looked over at the alarm clock on his nightstand, bright green letters lighting up his dark bedroom.

1:46 a.m.

He turned his head back, staring at the ceiling. Time didn't matter to him anymore, because there just wasn't a point to worrying about it anymore. He wanted to sleep, but he was still afraid. Still afraid that if he were to close his eyes, he would never open them again and would pass on peacefully in his sleep. But despite his fight against sleep, he opened his eyes again, and the clock read 5:19 a.m.

"Damn…"

The doctor said that excess sleeping would be normal, saying that it was "to prepare yourself for what's coming". Why would he need to sleep when he was going to go to sleep forever in such a short amount of time? He tried not to think about it too much, keyword: try.

Matthew was now at the point that he just didn't care anymore, and every so often, he contemplated just ending it all. He was going to die either way, so why not go out by his own terms? He had thought about years ago, to be honest with himself, but he could never do it before, knowing that he had a full life ahead of him. He thought of how foolish he was back then.

Even know, he couldn't bring himself to do it and decided that he would see this life through to the end, and in two months' time, it would be the end.

* * *

This bed. This bed was now his home. But it was not the bed he had at home. A month had gone by since his deep bout of depression, and now Matthew sat where most sick patients end up, in hospice. He hated it here, constantly surrounded by death and people who wanted his constant pity. It made him sick. Every day, he woke up feeling nauseous, both from the smell of death and his own illness. His nurse, how he hated her; her gritty and overly cheerful voice was like nails on a chalkboard to him. She was too happy to be working in a place like this. Either she was dead inside, or she was one sick fuck. That's what he thought, at least.

His heart monitor beeped in the background; he hardly ever noticed it anymore. He looked up at the television, watching the latest hockey game. For the first time in months, he allowed himself to smile as he watched his favorite sport, and his favorite team was kicking ass!

"Finally some good news."

He talked to himself and smiled. Then that smile disappeared when the door opened and the nurse came in with her sickeningly sweet smile, bringing him his dinner. She tried to chat him up, but he ignored her. He picked at his food that tasted bland and lifeless, just like the hell he was in. His father's cooking tasted better than this and that was saying something.

Matthew sighed, taking a few bites and pushed the tray away. The nurse had left ages ago, and he was grateful for that. One more second of hearing that overly happy voice and he would have offed himself right then and there.

Speaking of his father…

He looked over to the phone. He hadn't told anyone in his family the news. He couldn't bring himself to do it, and it's not like they would care anyway. They only care about themselves. His older twin brother, Alfred, the American big shot, worked for the United States government, so of course he had no time to deal with the little brother who didn't amount to anything. His adoptive fathers, members of the English and French governments, divorced when Alfred and Matthew were only five years old, and they were split up. His parents didn't have time for him either, what with their jobs or anything. Plus, they only cared about bickering and bitching at each other.

Matthew sighed. He planned to tell them sooner or later, and it seems that he'll tell them later. He put it in his will to send them all a letter, telling them what had happened and why he didn't tell them sooner. He didn't want to hurt them, but sometimes, the truth hurts and stings like a slap to the face. Perhaps that's what his family has needed all this time. If only he would live long enough to see it.

"Oh well."

He smiled. Over time, he had begun to accept his fate. The final step in the cycle of death: Acceptance.

Perhaps the doctor was right about that whole cycle of death bullshit after all.

"Yeah right, whatever…"

But he knew deep down that the doctor was right. He had finally come to terms with it, and for the first time ever since that first diagnosis, he felt inner peace. It blossomed from his heart and filled him with a warmth that he hadn't felt since he was a little boy. It filled him with joy, be it for only a short time, but it was enough for him.

He looked outside, seeing the air filled with white powder as fresh snow fell from the sky. He always loved this time of year and it annoyed him that he wouldn't grab his skies and go down the hills. He took a deep breath and looked back to the TV, feeling his whole body being filled with content.

He grew tired, but this was a different kind of tired to him. It was warm and welcoming. He wanted so bad to close his eyes, and this time, this time was different. He took a deep breath and whispered one final wish before he closed his eyes.

This time, they would never open again.

* * *

 **Death**

 **Name:** Matthew Williams  
 **Date of Birth:** July 01, 1989  
 **Date of Death:** December 03, 2015  
 **Age:** 26  
 **Cause of Death:** Brain Cancer


End file.
